


To keep

by Somaybelikeno



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, PWP, The Vuvalini gives good comprehensive sex education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5367374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somaybelikeno/pseuds/Somaybelikeno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She finds him in the wasteland and it just happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To keep

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my first fanwork that's been posted on the internet, but it is the first fanfic, and to be honest I'm surprised that it's porn. I was thinking I'd start of with something fluffier or simply teen rated, but eh. If I keep thinking like that I'd probably never post anything. Someones bound to like this I hope.
> 
> Slight trigger warning!!! There is a moment where one character expects violence from the other, but it turns out to be false. I have no experience with how triggers work so better safe than sorry.
> 
> Unbetaed.

One would have to be particularly inept at survival to get caught with one’s pants down in the wasteland. Completely pant-less is irresponsible. Include arm-less and you have a death wish. On her back on top of the hood of a car parked far out in the desert? Just flat out ridiculous. Fucking mediocre in fact, in case of her sudden death.

It's good he's here to have her back. He can drive, she can shoot. Pants are not required for shooting. Thought Max's own pants being somewhere below hip level as well might be a flaw in that plan.

She found him in the wasteland, wandering and lonely. Hair growing thick over his ears, his beard much the same, giving him the look of a bear. Although the eyes of her Fool is still visible below all that. He's dirty, and somewhat delirious, and partly feral again, but her mere presence and words drew out that sharp focus of his that she saw on the Fury Road.

This, what they're doing right now, sort of just happened.

He's thrusting his hips between her thighs, panting with the effort, his legs in a wide stance for balance. A curious sensation pulses through Furiosa from where they are joined. It's making her breathe like she can't get enough air, turning her world fuzzy. It's new. It's overwhelming. The sun is in her eyes, and she's falling apart right there under his hands.

Furiosa gives a cut of cry at a particularly hard snap of his hips. Max falters, and he falls forward on his hands, one on each side of her waist, and stills. He's not finished thought and if there's anytime when nothing good ever follows, it's when a man stops during fucking before he's finished. By reflex Furiosa reaches for a weapon that she already shed along with her pants.

“Sorry,” Max grunts. “Sorry.” He looks down at her, catching his breath. The sheer unexpected nature of his words is enough to stop her defensive reaction, and Furiosa stills, heart hammering in her chest.

She rolls her head up to get a look at him, with his wild hair and all, her initial alarm faltering into tense confusion. She's not just letting him pin her to the car, she's an active part of making it happen, and he's apologizing? Furiosa frowns. It's such a strange thing to do when he already has her underneath him, but he looks at her with such genuine concern. So no, he's not about to beat her for some obscure detail she couldn't foresee.

“I'm fine,” she tells him, and it's true. Roughness doesn't put her off, and he's been gentle, despite the frantic nature of their coupling. The men of the Citadel never bothered with her bodily well being. As a result sex never presented itself as a way to scratch an itch, but rather a means to an end, a bargaining chip.

Until Max.

If she's honest with herself he kind of scratches more than that.

She lets her head fall back, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Max shifts and his shadow falls on her, shielding her eye. That seems to be the only intention behind his shuffling.

Now that she can see she notices him staring and it makes her squirm. The pressure of him inside her, it's frustrating. Furiosa lets the stump of her left arm rest above her head, and places her single hand on the lower part of her belly. She presses the palm into the soft flesh there finding the hard shape of him faint underneath.

Max lets out the softest “oh,” and his eyes flutter close. His breath deepens again and he sways just a little. Furiosa lifts her legs from where they rest bracketing his hips. With care she wraps them around him, gathering him in close. Max bottoms out and exhales a world of tension, flexing his ass under the squeeze of her calves. He shifts his palm from the hood of the car, warm from the sun-heated metal, to add a gentle press to her own hand. Furiosa lets out an impatient sound.

“C'mon, Fool.”

Max opens his eyes, looking utterly wretched from under all that hair covering his face. He places his other hand on her abdomen and with a firm pressure trails it up under her linen blouse. It stops between her breasts, just above her heart.

“Max!”

He moves, setting a slower pace than before, yet more forceful. There’s a twinge of something new in Furiosa’s chest with how he seems intent to dismantle her. It doesn't take long until he's taken away all her equilibrium. Furiosa grabs for him, her fist in the front of his shirt, covers the hand on her chest with her stump of an arm, does anything to keep herself grounded. She looks up, expecting to find something predatory in his eyes, like he's hunting, but Max's expression is one of being in free fall.

He trails his hand down and places the pad of his thumb between her legs. With little effort, like he knows it's there, he finds that spot she sometimes stimulates for pleasure when she's alone. The Vuvalini has a word for it, but the thought gets lost to the feeling of his hands on her. Furiosa writhes and gasps, her movements making his all the more intense. Sounds make it past her lips, but she's too practiced at keeping quiet for them to be loud. They come out aborted with each of his thrusts. The only sounds he makes are his labored breaths.

Above her Max moves harder, faster, all the while making small circles with his thumb, and she can't, she can't... she....

“I gotcha,” he says. “Let go.”

Her windpipe gives way to her noises, and she wails. The sun whites out the sky and the ground gets swept out from underneath her. She arches her body of the hood, desperate and wounded, and crashes.

When the wave passes, and her tingling body finally settles down, and Furiosa slowly comes back to herself, she finds that she's been tethered. Max lies boneless and heavy atop of her, panting from his exertion, his face hidden in her neck. She draws her arms out from between them, and he shivers as she slides them across his back, but he lets her keep him right there the same way he keeps her.

“Fuck,” Furiosa says, because it seems to apply.

“Yeah.”


End file.
